


Uneven Odds

by LightsAnon



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Felix is real tired and Dimitri's bed is real comfortable, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Minor Character Death, Near Death Experiences, Post-Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sharing a Bed, bc im a ho, post-feral dimitri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-08-14 06:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20187841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightsAnon/pseuds/LightsAnon
Summary: It had been a month since his old man was killed, and the fatigue was going to weigh on him sooner or later.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> just take it
> 
> shoutout to my boy @jinx22 for helpin me out

It had been a month since Felix’s old man was killed.

Felix never really got along with him. They’d barely spoken since Glenn died. It didn’t affect his concentration in battle or in training.

But at night, when it was just him, the sounds of the wild, and his thoughts, the situation weighed on him.

Had he been too stubborn? Could they have made up eventually? What was Felix going to do now that he was the only remaining member of the Fraldarius house? Nights were plagued with memories and regrets, and Felix struggled to get to sleep.

It had been a month since his old man was killed, and the fatigue was going to weigh on him sooner or later.

In the meantime, taking first guard helped. It was easier to get to sleep when he was exhausted.

They were headed towards his own territory now, though it was currently being overlooked by house Gautier. Before long they’d be in Fhirdiad. Either Dimitri would become king, or they would all die.

Dimitri… he’d changed of late. From beast to man, like a lycanthrope after a full moon, and just as dangerous. The look he held in his eyes these days reminded him of when they were children, before the Tragedy of Duscur, and before Glenn was killed at war. Back when Felix would do anything to be by his side. But the man had changed once before. He had the spirit of a killer inside him. It would take more than just one month of reflection for Felix to trust him again.

A second helping of torchlight lent itself to the night, bringing with it the crunching of twigs underfoot. Second guard had arrived. Felix wasn’t as tired as he hoped he’d be, but made his way back to his tent anyway. He threw the tent flap open and found someone snoring away in his bed.

Felix stared. His weapons and supplies were still strewn around the room, as they had been when he’d left. Why was this fool here? He was going to have to kick him out.

His feet carried him through the entrance and no further. The man was asleep. It would be a while before Felix would get to sleep, bed or no. There was no point in taking what he wasn’t going to need. On his way out, he grabbed a whetstone from the floor and shoved it into his pocket.

The air outside the tent was barely colder than it was inside, but Felix felt the difference. Whatever. He’d sharpen his blade and maybe get some sword practise in until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. Surely someone on second guard could do with a spar to distract themselves from the quiet night. He turned the corner and was met with a set of black armour on broad shoulders, and a familiar flash of blond, dirty hair.

“Felix?” The crown prince’s deep voice no longer carried the bite of anger. It was gentle, curious. Felix still wasn’t used to it. Yet, they were both awake, and the boar prince was one of the best opponents he could hope to find.

“Spar with me.”

Dimitri smiled. Something about it made Felix angry. He looked stupid. What business did a war criminal-prince have, smiling like that? At him? Ridiculous.

“I am helping with second guard,” was his excuse. He was still smiling. “Why are you awake?”

“First guard.” Felix didn’t want to waste any more time here. Dimitri was busy, so he was going to find someone else. Or maybe he should kick that guy out of his tent? Dealing with the prince was always tiring.

Dimitri caught Felix looking back at his tent. When their eyes met again, the prince had that determined look in his eyes. Oh, no. This was going to be more trouble than it was worth.

“Felix--”

“Whatever you’re about to suggest, no.”

“Just listen--”

“I’m busy,” Felix took a step around Dimitri, and was immediately cut off. Damn those long legs.

“We are at war, Felix,” Dimitri said, like that wasn’t completely obvious. “You need to rest.”

Felix scowled. Did Dimitri think he was a fool? Of course he knew that. Knowing didn’t help him, though.

“Are you done lecturing me?” He spat. He wished he didn’t have to crane his neck so far to glare at the boar’s stupid face. “Can I go now?”

“You may,” Dimitri’s voice was as soft as ever, but he didn’t move out of the way. “You may use my tent, if you like. Seeing as I am occupied.” He flourished his cape and, without waiting for an answer, continued down the path.

Had it not been the middle of the night, Felix would have yelled after him. What nonsense. What was Dimitri thinking? Was he thinking at all? He couldn’t just waltz into the prince’s quarters in the middle of the night. Imagine all the rumours that would arise!

Actually, Felix didn’t care about rumours. Who was watching, anyway? It was a cold night. Not too cold for a man of Faerghus, sure, but it was unpleasant. It wouldn’t hurt to look. Yeah.

He let his feet drag him to the prince’s tent, still a bit unsure of himself even as he went inside. The place was tidy. Completely, immaculately tidy, as though the owner had gone back and forth, making sure not a single thing was out of place. In a tent. And the prince had lectured him about getting some rest, the fool.

His eyes drifted over to the bed by the side of the room. It was big, with fluffy pillows and blankets thicker than Felix’s arms. Way over the top for a travel bed, but damn if it didn’t look inviting. He looked over the rest of the room, examined boring-looking books, three different sets of books, and even found a pile of broken sewing needles stuffed into a corner. Once Felix was out of things to amuse himself with, he sat on the edge of the bed and immediately regretted it.

It was soft. Just sitting on it made him instantly sleepy. How did Dimitri still manage to have bags under his eyes while sleeping in a bed like this?

Would it really be that bad if Felix slept here? He had permission to. And he was getting sleepy. Why was he so hung up over this in the first place?

On the to retrieve his bedclothes, Felix decided he’d just stay until Dimitri got back from his watch. That would be fine. Then he wouldn’t be getting in the way, either.

Light flooded into the room through the gaps in the tent. Felix woke up feeling more refreshed than he ever had in his recent memory. The bed was still soft, blankets as warm as a hug. He wanted to stay here for as long as he could.

Then a cold breath hit his ear. He threw the blankets off and jumped onto his feet. There, frightfully close to where Felix was just laying, was the crown prince of Faeghus, half-naked and awake.

Felix’s mind was a mess of words, all melding together and none coming to the surface.  
“What...?” Was all he managed to grasp. “What???”

Dimitri yawned and rubbed his eyes before even attempting to reply. “I told you to stay, and you did…?” He offered. His hair was even messier than usual, and he had removed his eyepatch, revealing his scarred mess of a right eye.

“Clearly.” Felix wanted to yell at the beast for not waking him up, but he knew he never asked him to. Regardless, the fact that he hadn’t woken up when Dimitri arrived stoked the flames of his anger. “You were hugging me from behind.”

Dimitri considered the space Felix was resting in minutes before. It was right up against the side of the bed, inches from where the prince still sat. “Oh.” His left eye was wide when he looked up, even the right had a bit more shape to it, though his eyelids barely worked. “I must have sought out your body heat in my sleep.”

Felix hummed in reply. That sounded reasonable. It did, but he was still angry. “Liar,” he accused, “I’m leaving.”

When the army marched on, Felix sought out the company of Sylvain. He was a good friend, though oftentimes annoying, and even though Sylvain rode on horseback, he slowed to a trot so that Felix could keep up.

The conversation was light and filled with breaks of silence. Neither of them particularly minded. Sylvain spoke of the men and women he’d courted of late, which Felix usually filtered out. Today it was a welcome distraction.

In a particularly long streak of silence, Felix recalled a similar outing during their childhood. Sylvain was always a talented rider, connecting with animals despite not really trying to. Felix was the opposite. Creatures would startle when he approached, and Sylvain pinned it down to his scary-looking face, even when he was only ten. He didn’t care. He was proud to have a friend like Sylvain, who could do the things he couldn’t.

Thinking back, he was always following the red-headed fool around. He was Felix’s senior by 3 years, and always full of confidence. He remembered how happy he’d feel when he made Sylvain laugh or smile, how he felt lightheaded and dizzy.

Oh. Felix stopped in his tracks. To his side, Sylvain’s horse whinnied as the other brought her to a sudden stop.

Oh, shit. The two men made eye contact. The redhead stared down at Felix in concern, while he scrutinised the rider. He was handsome, probably. His hair was clean enough, and well kept, but the warmth in his chest from when they were children was long gone.

When Sylvain asked him if he was alright, Felix was happy to say that he was.

It wasn’t that finding men attractive was particularly surprising to Felix. He’d found plenty of men at the academy handsome enough. Women, too-- he found Annette cute and charming at times. No, what was jarring was the realisation that he could find a friend attractive. His personality already put people at a distance. He didn’t need more reasons to push them away.

At night, Felix stayed in his assigned group tent, watching the backs of the three other soldiers he was rooming with while he sharpened his swords. They were sharing drinks and words in hushed tones, but on occasion, the conversation flared.

The soldiers called for a toast. The sound of glass bottles clinking against each other washed over the tent. “For our fallen brethren!” One shouted. “They died a warrior’s death!” All three jumped up, and Felix made a quick retreat before could be pulled into the celebration.  
It was something that he was long used to-- or should have been, at least. His opinions of self-sacrifice have always opposed that of the knights around him. When Glenn died, he left nothing but grief in his wake. Felix had carried that weight on his shoulders for years. Yet, with the death of his father, the wound was fresh again.

Good, he told himself. The man was always going on about valiant deaths. How suitable that he died a martyr, throwing his life away to drag Dimitri back to his senses. Felix swallowed down the ache in his heart and pushed forwards. The Faerghus night air chilled his rage-flushed cheeks.

Of course, it took no time at all to run into the boar in question. The two rushed around the same corner and stopped just short of running into each other.

“Felix?”

A part of him wanted to run. Dimitri-- however much of him inside that broken corpse-- would never let go of a friend in need. Much less one he once knew so well.

Felix should have fled, but something held him in place. Stubbornness, maybe. Emotional fatigue. Whatever spurred his apathy doomed him that night, as before long he was being dragged back to the boar’s quarters.

Dimitri released him at the door. Felix tried to distract himself, but could only last so long when he’d examined the same room the day before.

His eyes slowly made their way up to Dimitri’s. The beast was already watching him, examining him for signs of weakness. Easy enough; Felix was covered in them, and they both knew it.

“Felix, you can’t--”

“Shut up!” There was a flash of annoyance on the prince’s face, but it shifted into something resembling pity, of all things.

Felix could read Dimitri like a book. Unfortunately, it went both ways.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Felix sighed, breaking off eye contact. “What good could possibly come of it?”

He heard a rustling of fabric and looked up to find Dimitri sitting on the bed from across the room. He gave the bedsheets beside him a pat, inviting to join him. He didn’t budge.

Neither did Dimitri.

“Would you rather we train, then?”

The pity had vanished from his face. It was a genuine offer, from one man experienced in being haunted by ghosts, to another.

And so, they trained.

Being a fugitive for five years hadn’t diminished Dimitri’s skills. The prince’s anger was tempered and well-wielded, his actions swiftly calculated. He was a better opponent now than he had been at the officer’s academy, or when they were children and Felix had to develop his speed to counter Dimitri’s demonic strength.

As the fight went on, Felix’s stamina waned. The boar knew the signs well enough to pick up his pace. He burst forward with a vertical swing; Felix moved to parry it with the flat of his blade. Spear hit sword with such speed and strength that it sent him stumbling backwards. Before he had a chance to compose himself, there was a spear at his throat.

Felix’s arms trembled. The adrenaline was beginning to leave him, and all that remained was an exhausted husk.

Dimitri took the sword from his weak grip and set it aside.

“You have been struggling with sleep, have you not?” The prince asked.

If he thought Felix would open up just because he was tired, he had another thing coming.

“I slept yesterday,” he retorted.

Dimitri’s rolled his singular eye, took a step forward and—

A knight in full armour strode into the tent. Even though her helmet obscured her face, she wasn’t subtle as she stared from Felix to Dimitri and back.

“Y-your highness,” she stammered, “a report from the west houses.”

Her voice held no urgency. Just a rudimentary report, then; an exchange of niceties, a confirmation of things they already knew.

Felix tuned her out. Instead, his gaze honed in on Dimitri’s face. His cheeks were dusted pink with exertion, a line of sweat ran down his angular jaw.

A feeling he couldn’t identify gripped his chest… Nostalgia, most likely. They were all grown now, but the boar had his youth beaten out of him faster than anyone. The days of round faces and gap-toothed smiles were far behind them now.

That was the reason Felix’s chest felt tight: It was longing. Longing for something they would never have again.

In his fatigue, that was almost enough to convince himself.

Dimitri dismissed the knight and turned to Felix, who was too tired to read his expression. Some measure of concern with a side of happiness, and some other things that blurred together.

“I must go find Byleth. Stay here?”

Felix didn’t have the energy to disagree.

He took a seat on the bed and sank down into the mattress. Once he could no longer hear the deep notes of the prince’s voice outside, he pulled his hair free of the elastic that bound it and settled in, pulling the blankets up to his shoulders.

  
He closed his eyes and focused on breathing.

  
Maybe that would calm his beating heart.

  
Nostalgia, Felix told himself. Nostalgia, exertion, and fatigue.

  
Never, ever attraction.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok we're probably heading into actual blue lion route spoiler territory here.  
also like .... lots of death mentions. thats a thing.

Morning, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, came slowly to Felix. A vague memory of waking up once before buzzed in the back of his mind; or perhaps it was just a dream. 

  
The weight he felt when he woke up was present this morning too. Felix was coming to think of it as just an accessory that came with staying in this room. If he tilted his head enough, he could see the muscular arm that snaked over his hips, and the hand that clutched the fabric beside him. 

  
“Boar, are you awake?”

  
Nothing. Felix cleared his throat and tried again.

  
“Dimitri?”

  
He heard a shuffling of sheets. The arm draped over him moved up, calloused fingers came to rest on his upper arm.  
“‘morning,” the prince muttered, voice too low for Felix’s comfort.

  
“Good morning indeed.” Felix shifted his arm slightly under Dimitri’s loose grip. “This again, boar?”

  
He let out a gruff breath that swept over Felix’s hair. The man was still finding his place in the waking world. 

  
“I told you; I sought after your heat while I was asleep.”

  
“And I told you, that was a lie.”

Dimitri laughed, right in Felix’s ear, except it was all throat and no voice. Some kind of bestial laugh that made Felix’s mouth run dry. But it was morning, and that was normal. 

  
“Perhaps,” the boar supplied. “Or, perhaps not.”

  
The two allowed themselves to enjoy their mutual warmth for a few more minutes before they got up. Felix slipped into his leather armour, unsettled by just how calm he was in this situation. 

  
He was gone before Dimitri was even halfway done suiting up. 

  
Not that he looked. 

  
Not that he saw broad, pale, heavily scarred shoulders and felt anything other than disgusting or pity. 

  
Not that he left in a flustered rush, heart in his stomach and swearing under his breath. 

The air got even colder the further towards the north peninsula they marched. It rolled in from the ocean, crisp to the point that one’s lungs would sting upon breathing it in. 

  
They set up camp one last time, not far from the border between Fraldarius territory and Fhirdiad. At nightfall, they were allowed no source of light save for the meagre lanterns at their sides. First guard shuffled hesitantly off to their post. 

  
Felix was excited. Or nervous. At this point, they were much the same thing. 

  
It was late into the night before he was settled enough to even consider sleep. He trained with the other soldiers, all buzzing with nervous energy, he whetted his blade, and then a thought occurred to him:

  
If the soldiers were nervous, how poorly was the man leading them into battle feeling?

  
It was getting harder and harder for Felix to convince himself he didn’t care.

  
Especially when his own traitorous feet led him to the boar prince’s tent.

  
Inside, Dimitri was pacing holes into the floor, his brows creased as he wrung his hands together. He was still in his armour, but had tossed his cloak aside. Without it, he looked small and vulnerable, even from Felix’s height.

  
“You look like shit,” was how Felix announced his presence.

  
Dimitri spun towards him and squatted on his bed the moment his eyes landed on Felix. Soldier sat beside future king, friend beside friend, more or less, or both simultaneously.

  
“I feel like shit,” Dimitri muttered, barely audible. Louder, “I don’t feel like a king.”

  
“How is a king supposed to feel?”

  
“Gallant. Noble. Deserving.”

  
Nothing Felix could say would erase the past 5 years. Nothing in the world would excuse Dimitri of his crimes. What could Felix say, other than just that: Nothing. 

  
He heard the prince sigh, then felt his warmth as he leaned against his shoulders. It made his skin prickle, but he didn’t dare move.  
“Thank you,” Dimitri whispers.

  
Felix’s heart began to swell in his chest, and a storm started to rage in his mind.

  
“For what?” His attempts to hide his self-directed disgust from his voice weren’t very successful. At least it sounded like his usual snaps and bites, something the boar was more than used to.

  
“For coming to see me.” 

  
“Right. Yeah.” Felix was grateful the prince didn’t ask him why he came; he didn’t have an answer. Not one he was willing to share, anyway.

The two sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. Felix slid deeper and deeper into the comfort it provided until Dimitri’s voice pulled him out.

  
“I’ll miss this,” he said. The two made eye contact, but Dimitri broke away immediately. He pressed his fingers into the back of his dark armour, and Felix swore he could see it begin to dent with the force. He scrunched up his face, relaxed it, scrunched it up again- and didn’t stop until Felix elbowed him, flashed him a look that told him to relax, and continue. “Just- Over these past few days, we have spent more time together than we have since… years.”

  
“I spent a full year with you in the officer’s academy,” Felix pointed out, earning a short chuckle from the future king.

  
“Never willingly, though.” _True._ “Tomorrow… This will all end, one way or another.”

Right. Dimitri was busy enough these days as the leader of a rebellion army. As a king, his duties would increase tenfold and beyond; or he’d wind up a deadman, with no time for anything.

  
Regardless, whatever this was would have to end.

  
The swelling in Felix’s heart dimmed to a faint ache.

  
Amber eyes met blue ones, and this time their gaze lingered.

“I’m staying here tonight,” Felix announced. The prince gave a faint nod.

  
_One last time, then._

Felix was the first one in bed. There was nothing unusual about that. But it was alarming how different it felt when he knew Dimitri was removing his armour just out of view. Felix pulled the covers up to his shoulders at the same time as he felt the mattress dip considerably to one side.

  
With the prince under the covers with him, it was only a matter of time before something happened. He’d sweep Felix up in his arms, say something stupid, and they’d both pretend that this was some normal thing that childhood friends who rarely talked did. They’d both pretend that Felix’s heart wasn’t beating loudly enough for the two of them.

  
In the darkness, he waited. And waited. The room was eerily quiet. Dimitri didn’t stir at all. Felix could barely hear him breathing. He couldn’t be asleep already, could he? 

  
Then, he heard the blankets rustle. Felix held his breath as the figure behind him rolled over, and then… 

  
Silence.

  
It wasn’t anything out of the norm for a restless sleeper. Felix had fallen asleep before Dimitri even showed up the previous two nights… he had no evidence to compare this behaviour to. So, he kept waiting. He heard a miniature stampede of guards bustling outside the tent as they switched from first guard to second. Heard the scampering of a tiny creature running around the camp in before it faded to silence.

  
The man behind him shifted once more, bordering on soundless in his approach. The swordsman could feel it, though-- both the movement and the shift of temperature-- the source of the warmth teetering, just out of reach.  
_What are you doing? _ Felix willed into the darkness.

  
A soft stream of breath blew over his unbound hair. He fought to suppress a shudder.

  
And then he felt Dimitri’s chest pressed flush against his back. He didn’t have to make any attempt to calm his breathing. He couldn’t breathe in that moment at all. Before he could fully recover, he felt that telltale weight across his torso.

  
“_Dimitri._”

The body behind him flinched, and then went completely still.

“I know you’re awake,” Felix hissed over his shoulder. “You snore.”

  
“I do not,” The prince grumbled right in his ear. 

  
Felix let out a laugh that split the darkness in two. “No, you don’t,” he chuckled out in the wake of it. He felt the rumbles of Dimitri’s faint laughter, too.

  
When silence had found its way back into the room, Felix crawled out of the boar prince’s grip. Dimitri let him go without objection and scooted back over to his side of the bed.

  
Where Felix soon joined him. 

  
He could feel Dimitri’s gaze on him as he drew closer. 

  
“Here,” he prompted, pushing the prince’s shoulder with the palm of his hand. “Lay on your side.” He complied, eye still focused on Felix, unblinking. 

  
The shorter of the two settled in beside him, their chests pressed nervously together. Felix’s heart threw itself against his chest in attempts to get closer; Dimitri was still staring, his bite-scarred lips right _there—_

  
_No._

  
Felix drew back, even as his entire body protested the movement. 

  
“My arm is numb,” he supplied, through clenched teeth and a stiff jaw. Dimitri watched on.

  
The prince rolled onto his back, without breaking eye contact, and gestured for Felix to lay on top of him. _Goddess,_ that would be even _worse._ He delivered a swift kick to whatever his inferior legs could reach. Dimitri groaned, but it came out more like a yawn. Even then, his eye was just barely open. Had the bastard even blinked? 

  
“Can’t we just…” He flailed his hand uselessly. “Like before? The previous nights?” Felix was grateful he didn’t use the word _spoon,_ else Dimitri might be grateful that Felix’s sword was on the other side of the room. 

  
“So you can push me most the way off the bed again? No.”

  
In the silence, they thought—presumably—until the silence grew awkward between them. Felix clicked his tongue and grabbed the boar’s arm with both hands and slung it over his shoulders. 

  
He nestled into the gap between the prince’s arm and body, and rested his head on his chest. All he could hear was Dimitri’s increasingly gentle exhales in the darkness. 

  
That, and the frantic heartbeat that betrayed his calm demeanour. At least, Felix hoped that was Dimitri’s heartbeat, and not out of some fool hope of reciprocation of all things, no— else it was his own, beating so loudly in his ears that it was deafening. So loudly that surely the emperor sympathisers in the kingdom capital could hear it, and come hunt them down in their sleep.   
His arm, possessed by its own will, came to rest on the boar’s chest this time. The skin was surprisingly soft under his fingers, even as they ran across the indent of a long-healed scar. 

  
He heard the sheets rustle, then felt calloused fingers brush over his knuckles and vanish. Whether Dimitri was asleep or awake, Felix didn’t know. His blood certainly didn’t care, rushing up and roaring in his ears, and oh, yes— that heartbeat _was_ Dimitri’s, because it had begun to settle Felix could feel his grow in pace.

  
That possessed hand reached out for those fingers and found a wrist instead. Good enough. It drew it in closer, and their fingers lazily intertwined. 

  
In his daze, the prince covered the rest of the distance, flexed his fingers, brought palm against palm. 

  
Felix couldn’t see their hands well in the drape of night, even after all this time. Still, he eyed them, wondering how something so simple could upturn his stomach so much, bring such tired euphoria upon him. He felt like a young girl before a ball— he bit down any giddiness that threatened to arrive. _Coward._

  
He screwed his eyes shut and buried his face into Dimitri’s shoulder. 

  
If this would all end tomorrow, then he would face the sun knowing he wouldn’t regret his final night. 

  
...Probably. 

  
They woke in a tangle of limbs and hair. Felix had to detangle himself from Dimitri’s complete mess of hair before he could even sit up.

  
The prince was slow to wake, but fast to get up and suit into his armour.

  
Felix was dressed and stuffing his hair into a tight bun before the other said anything. 

  
“Felix—“

  
Not that he got a word in edgewise.

  
“Don’t.” The other cut him off immediately. Something that happened more often than not, lately. “Whatever you have to say, it can wait.”

  
And that was the last they saw of each other before the fight. 

Cornelia’s forces had been expecting them. The Fhirdiad streets were blocked with barricade after barricade. Dimitri and Byleth led the charge and knocked them down one by one. The further into the city they went, the more tired the enemy army seemed to be, like they had just scrambled out of bed the moment the Seiros and rebellion forces had arrived. 

  
They had been expecting them to attack by cover of night, Felix supposed. Their units had staked out in the city, waiting for them to arrive. Instead, they came well-rested by morning light, and their rest had given them the advantage. 

  
A river of blood ran down the steps of the castle. The most skilled, most awake soldiers had guarded the Fhirdiad gates, intending to push them back. When they failed, the other soldiers lining the streets didn’t stand a chance.

  
The battle inside the castle walls was more of a struggle. Archers were rendered mostly useless, cavaliers were forced to dismount or face an ambush, and manoeuvring around narrow hallways made fighting harder for Felix. Worse still, it was harder to keep an eye on allies. He was forced to fight on, without knowing if maybe, somewhere further in, Dimitri had already been killed.  
That thought pushed him forwards. He led his battalion down the winding halls, downed foe after foe and ignored his amounting injuries.

  
Finally, he broke into the throne room. His eyes caught hold of a head of messy, blond hair and he breathed a sigh of relief.   
And then inhaled sharply as pain tore through his body, swift like lightning. 

  
He saw the blood seep through his clothes before he saw the spear blade piercing through his forearm. The fool on the other end of it took a step forward to pull his weapon free. If they were counting Felix out already, then they’d just made the biggest mistake of their life.   
And the last. 

  
Pushing through the pain, he thrust his sword towards the soldier’s body. They jumped backwards, a clumsy dodge that threw them off balance. Their hands flew off the spear in Felix’s arm. He darted forward and struck the soldier down. 

  
The movement made the spear in his arm shift. Pain blotted out his vision. He sheathed his sword in a hurry, and gripped the spear with his now free hand, stopping it from moving again. 

  
Felix threw himself at the nearest wall and looked around the room. He’d struggle to defend himself in this condition— maybe, by some miracle, Cornelia had been put down while he was distracted, and the fight would soon be over. 

  
But no, Cornelia stood by the throne, looking smug as she gasped for breath, still managing to push back Dimitri’s onslaught of attacks with her magic alone. The prince, too, was looking worse for wear. So too was an imperialist soldier, who’s eyes fell upon Felix the same time he’d noticed the other. 

  
_Shit._

  
He didn’t know much about medicine, or looking after wounds. He did know a thing or two about desperation, and about life-or-death situations, and he knew he couldn’t win a fight against a castle elite without any free hands. He needed to take a gamble.   
Both Felix’s knuckles and his vision went white as he gripped the spear and pulled. 

  
Presumably, it fell to the ground with a clutter, but Felix didn’t hear it.   
He didn’t hear anything.   
He couldn’t _see_ anything. 

  
He didn’t even know if he was still upright. Just a sitting duck, completely vulnerable in front of a man willing and capable of taking his life. 

  
The Fraldarius line was _always_ going to end with him, but he didn’t think it would be this soon. He tried to gather his thoughts enough to at least sent out some last, obligatory prayer, but all he could think about was Dimitri. Wondered if seeing his dead body would make him slip again. 

  
At least he wouldn’t have to watch him die. Not like he did Glenn, or his father. 

A scream, shrill and grating broke through the silence. Felix saw, then, from his slumped position on the ground— he _saw—_ a woman in mage’s garb, and long pink hair fall to the floor. 

  
Through his half-lidded eyes, he saw the soldier that would take his life. He looked rattled, unsure. Felix could fight him easily, could kill him before he even realised this was all over.  
If only he could do more than move his fingers. 

  
The soldier gripped his sword. Felix saw a flash of determination in his eyes, he thought. Then, the sword fell to the floor, and he _heard_ it. 

  
Felix emptied his lungs with a long, loud sigh. 

  
_I’m going to live. _

  
He squeezed his eyes shut. Pure relief manifested in the form of tears that he couldn’t stop. They fell down his cheeks, and his blood roared, and his heart beat in his chest, and _he was going to live_. 

  
_Fuck you, Goddess._ He barked out a laugh that sounded entirely like a desperate gasp for air. _You won’t take me today._

  
His vision blurred. The battlefield went quiet. But he could smell his own blood as it dripped down his arm, which he felt— as well as something cold, hard and new in his hands. Metal? A gauntlet? He traced his fingers over it, and they fell into indents in the armour that seemed so, oddly familiar.

  
And then they, and everything, were gone.

**Author's Note:**

> coming soon: childhood friend roadtrip au.


End file.
